Manic
by twolostsouls25
Summary: Rachel Roth, Garfield Logan, Victor Stone, Dick Greyson, and Kori Anders are damaged and troubled teens. Somehow, after incidents in their own lives, they end up living together, amongst other teens at a juvenile corrections facility, making close friends and dangerous enemies. Can they face their inner demons and learn to fix their damaged selves to become whole again?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey everyone! I initially wrote this a long time ago as a fan fiction for something else, but I kind of got re inspired, and edited it up a little bit to fit the Titans. This is totally AU nobody has powers or anything, so naturally BB is not going to be green, Cyborg will not be half machine (Though I might find a way to allude to his half-robot-ness somehow aka a robotic leg or something) And Raven will not have gray skin (though she will be very pale) or purple hair (it'll be black like in the comics) I'll give her the purple eyes, though. (I'd still like to keep her a bit true to how she was in the animated series.) I just don't see her as the type who'd dye her hair and natural purple hair doesn't exist… let's just face it, haha. Enjoy the fic!**

**The whole story won't be in first person—just the prologue **** I just think it sounds better like this, though I rarely write fan fictions in first person. I don't really like it that much to be honest.**

**I don't own Teen Titans. **

PROLOGUE: A Memory

I remember my mother. Her name was Arella and she was beautiful and sweet and fun. I was her only child, and she was my only parent. Her eyes were purple like mine, and her hair was long and beautiful and thick. It fell down in a mass of black waves a few inches past her shoulders. She was young, and she was beautiful and she was free. And she was rarely sober.

I remember when I was seven, I came home from school in the snow. The thick white flakes dotted the gray sky as they fell down and rested on my hair and eyelashes. She was waiting for me inside the house. She was drunk but that was nothing new to me. I thought it was normal. I thought it was harmless. She smiled at me and walked toward me unsteadily but eagerly, grabbing my back pack and rushing me inside the house. She wanted to tell me something.

"Rachel my sweet lovely child!" she would slur "I have a surprise for you!" She said while running into the living room. I followed her, fear and excitement swelling in my chest. I knew this was one of her crazy and dangerous Ideas she thought would be fun. I stood in the doorway of the living room. Light from the winter sun filtered through the massive window and brightened the room. She kneeled down next to our coffee table which was small and rectangular. She smiled at me mischievously. I remember covering my smile with my hands and giggling

"It's a coffee table mommy!" I would say, wondering what on earth she thought was so special about a coffee table.

"It's a sled" She corrected me, her smile growing wider.

Next thing I knew we were sledding down the large hill in front of our house, always stopping ourselves right before we got to the road. It was fun, it really was. It was probably the best afternoon of my seven year old life, that is, until my mother forgot to stop the sled. I, of course being very small, was sent flying onto the road and cracked my head on the pavement. 8 stitches. And it would have been much worse if the car that was approaching us hadn't seen me at the last minute and swerved out of the way to avoid hitting me.

I remember sometimes she would leave for a few weeks at a time, sometimes maybe even a few months. I would stay with my aunt who told me she was on vacation, but I knew she wasn't. Aunt Katherine didn't like me very much. She thought I was too wild, and that my imagination should be 'tamed' She thought I was going to grow up and be nothing but trouble. The sad thing is, she was right. But she doesn't know me, or what I've been through. She doesn't understand anything. She doesn't want to.

I remember taking care of my mother. I've been holding her hair back as she threw up, or trying to wake her up when she's passed out, and she needed to drive me to Karate practice, or tucking her in while she was passed out on the couch, still holding a half empty bottle of vodka since as long as I can remember. It became routine for me, and when I visited my friends' houses I would wonder why their mothers were so…different.

I remember in fifth grade telling Lindsay Fischer that her mother was always so graceful when she walked. She told me it was because her mother wasn't a drunk, and that I wasn't used to seeing what normal families were like. That was the day I realized something wasn't right. I wasn't exactly angry with her cause technically it was the truth.

I remember the day my mother died. It was my fourteenth birthday, and that morning was just like any other morning. I headed for the front door, my back pack over one shoulder, munching on a bagel I hadn't had time to toast. I passed the living room and saw my mother on the couch. I walked over and gently shook her

"Mom get up" I whispered. No answer. I rolled my eyes, brought my hand back and hit her across the face. I know it sounds horrible but it was just the most efficient way of waking her up when she was passed out. She jolted awake, and her eyes focused on me.

"What?" She mumbled. I offered her a small amused smile

"It's morning mom, I'm going to school"

"It's Sunday" she slurred, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"It's Monday" I corrected her "you should probably get up. I cleaned the kitchen for ya last night, and you said you were going job hunting today" I said adjusting my backpack, filling her in on the things she'd probably forgotten last night. I kissed her on the cheek "Bye mom, love you."

She just grumbled and turned over. I didn't have time to get her out of bed so I just headed out the door. I wasn't expecting a 'happy birthday' or anything, in fact, I'd be surprised if she knew what month it was. But that was the last time I saw her alive.

It happened seventh period. I was sitting in class taking a test. I was called to the office and my aunt was there along with my guidance counselor Mr. Sheetz. Aunt Katherine was somber and so was Mr. Sheetz. My friendly smile disappeared when I realized that the situation must have been serious. I remember the exact conversation.

"What's going on?" I asked

"Rachel, there's no easy way for me to say this, so I'm just going to say it" Mr. Sheetz said "your mother-she died this morning." It took me a while to register. Minutes seemed to pass, and then when it finally clicked. I laughed.

"That's not possible, she's probably passed out or something" I shook my head. When nobody answered me, I grew hot and my heart started beating really fast. I could feel my smile fading

"But—but I was with her this morning" I whispered.

"I'm sorry Rachel." Mr. Sheetz said "If you like, we'll excuse you from your classes today. You can pack your bag and leave" he rested his hand on my shoulder but I shrugged it off, anger pulsing inside of me, and guilt.

"And go where?" I said coldly, turning around to go back to class.

I remember coming back to my house and standing in the doorway. I had cleaned it the day before so it was tidy and neat. My mother wasn't on the couch. At that moment, I'd never felt so alone. I threw my backpack on the floor and walked upstairs to my room.

I was so angry. I didn't even know what I was doing when I tore my pictures and posters from the wall, shredding them in half, when I broke my mirror or my window with my bare hands, or the blood that dripped from my knuckles or when I dropped to my knees in the middle of my destroyed bedroom and cried like small child. I remember when Aunt Katherine found me. She yelled at me for messing up my room and getting blood on the carpet.

That afternoon was the only time I showed any emotion whatsoever about my mother's death. I had lots of friends who were there to help me through but I didn't talk about it. Ever.

It's been a little over a year and I live with Aunt Katherine now, but she hates me, and I hate her back. It's not that I care much really, Its just there. I do my part though, I'm still smart as hell what with all the books I read or whatever. The only things is that sometimes I get angry. And when that happens, something snaps inside me and I lose control. And sometimes I get into fights. The sad part is that's the only real emotion I've been able to feel for almost two years. Anger. Aunt Katherine always threatens to send me to boarding school or something. She thinks I'm a sociopath, and I seem to disrupt the balance of her perfect life with her perfect husband and her perfect daughter.

She says she wants to help me but I know that all she wants is to get rid of me.

I can remember lots of things—I like to remember lots of things, like my mother's face and our crazy adventures and the sun filtering into my bedroom each morning and the sharp smell of whiskey and vodka that always lingered in my house. But there are some things I have trouble with, like my mother when she was sober… or my dad.

But that was a few weeks ago. A lot has happened since then, and I guess that's why right now, I'm pretty damn sure I'm going to hell.

**Okay, prologue is up! This story is loosely based on a movie I've seen a while ago called Manic. It has Zoey Deschanel (Sorry… butchered the name.), and Joseph Gordon Levitt in it and its pretty good, so you should check it out. The other characters are going to be introduced in the first chapter, but this is mostly a BBxRae fic. Also, since this is sort of 'real world' esque and all the characters are juvenile delinquents, there will be some foul language and the mild use of drugs. I hope that doesn't turn you off to the story! I shall try to use the cursing tastefully****. Please review cause it motivates me! I also LOVE constructive criticism so fire away!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: This is a very short chapter, I apologize, but the next update will be coming very, very soon don't worry! I might actually update later tonight if I have time. **

Dr. Lyle Sykes stands in a fluorescently lit hallway, reviewing a small file in his hands. He taps his foot on the ground and strokes his graying stubble as he thinks to himself. He's on the job, picking up a case as usual. This was the worst part of it. Breaking this kind of news to an unfortunate kid… they're bound to take it badly. And this one's been through hell and back. There were a lot of kids like that, only some of them know how to move past it. Some just hold onto it forever, and others… Others just can't seem to escape it. Through the glass window, he noticed the patient start to come to. _Go time_, he thought to himself with a sigh, and pressed on through the door.

Rachel's eyes flutter open and she is staring at a white tiled ceiling. The fluorescent lights are harsh on her eyes and she squints. Her whole body aches and She's cold even though she's under covers. Her shoulder is incredibly stiff to the point where she almost can't move it. Everything is disoriented and all she can think is how confused she is. It takes her a while to realize that there is an incredibly annoying beeping sound coming from her left side, and that this is not her bed. This is not her room. And this is definitely not somewhere she wants to be.

The dull hospital walls loom over her as though telling her that she's done something wrong. It's not her fault. It can't be. That bastard deserved everything he got and it was the last time he'd lay hands on her. She made sure of it. She struggled to move, each pain and ache reminding her of what had happened. The visit, the fight, how she… ended it.

Rachel looks towards the doorway and sees two people standing there. Aunt Katherine is nowhere to be seen. But there is a tall lean African American man with dark, serious looking eyes, who looks about thirty-five. He is a stranger to her. Maybe Aunt Katherine disowned her and this was some social worker here to bring her to a foster home.

"What's going on?" She asks, just to break the horrible silence. The tension in the air is thick and she's starting to realize that maybe she had achieved her goal. Maybe she really _had_ ended it. The man's face is impossible to read.

"Rachel Roth?" He looks down at his file.

"That's me" She keeps her face stoic.

"I spoke to your Aunt Katherine. She told me she doesn't want anything to do with you anymore" His voice was almost tinged with fake confusion. He's holding the damn file. He knows what happened. Hell, he probably knew more than Rachel. The end of that fight was such a blur…

"Well that's unfortunate, I suppose…" Rachel honestly didn't care much. Aunt Katherine was nothing more to her than a babysitter.

"Do you remember anything from last night?" He asks calmly. Rachel bites her lip.

"I do." She whispered. "Well up until the end I guess…" She trailed off. Lindsay said that's what happens when you go through something traumatic. You can't really remember anything. All Rachel can remember is pain… and her own anger.

The man walks forward more slowly and looks at Rachel with this almost pitying shame. She can't meet his eyes.

The man spoke. "You and your father fought last night." He started

"Obviously" She said plainly, looking up at his forehead, still avoiding his eyes.

"I didn't finish" he said quietly. Rachel stayed silent, waiting to hear about how last night ended. Rachel thought about how she used to do this with her mother, except_ Rachel _was the one telling _her. And of course her mother had been drunk. Rachel was just blinded by fury._

Rachel grows impatient under his intense stare.

"So how is he?" She asks with mild interest. "Did I kill him or not?" Her voice is completely devoid of emotion. There was definitely something wrong with this girl and he was going to figure it out.

_A sociopath is someone who cannot feel emotion, but can understand it. They are excellent at blending in with the crowd, showing accurately convincing displays of these perceived emotions around them. They are concise, manipulative and sometimes dangerous. Some are able to lead normal lives. Others commit atrocious crimes. These are the ones to look out for. Though these crimes are precise and methodic, Rachel Roth's crime is a crime of passion. This is curious mostly because she seems to have sociopathic tendencies. She not only seems to lack basic human emotions, but fails to display them as well. _

**There ya have it! What happened with Rachel is supposed to be kind of conspicuous. It's meant to be confusing, but more of her past will be revealed throughout the story! Don't you worry J Also as for Aunt Katherine, I realized she's not as conducive to the story in the context of the titans as she was with my other fanfiction. So I just kind of wrote her out. Sorry for the meaningless character!**


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